


My Dearest Darling

by reindeerjumper



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types, Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Lyrical Prompt, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 07:49:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8278324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeerjumper/pseuds/reindeerjumper
Summary: Bridget saw them out and about, and she isn't happy about it. Now Mark needs to defend something that doesn't even make sense to him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a lyrical fic prompt I posted over at tumblr ([My Dearest Darling by Etta James](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YJ0zhgmYIuY)). This particular fic takes places in the EOR universe as an alternate to the moment Bridget confronts Mark about Rebecca. Characters obviously aren't mine, but Helen Fielding's. If you'd like to participate, I have a few more prompts available for requests [at this link](http://hisreindeerjumper.tumblr.com/post/151725118585/lyrical-fic-prompt) :)

Mark was supposed to be taking Bridget out tonight, but the night had already turned sour. He showed up to her flat at 6, just as he had told her he would. He knew that she probably wouldn’t be ready--expected it, in all honesty--but he hadn’t expected  _ this _ . Bridget had opened the door, her hair in a messy ponytail, wearing an old pair of trainers and a paint stained sweatshirt. “Um, hello,” he had said, glancing at her taut face before he peeked around the corner of the door to make sure  _ he _ hadn’t forgotten something. “Hello,” she said tersely, stepping to the side with her arms crossed to let him by. Hesitantly, Mark looked back at Bridget and said, “It  _ is _ alright if I come in, right?” Bridget gave a curt nod, her lips pursed as she refused to make eye contact.

Mark stepped over the threshold, keeping his hands in his overcoat pockets to avoid fidgeting nervously. He hadn’t seen Bridget this miffed in quite some time, and it was unsettling to him that he didn’t even know why. He made his way into her kitchen, noticing that a half eaten sandwich still lay on a plate on the table and the bottle of wine next to it was already half gone. Mark turned around to face Bridget. She was standing at the threshold of her kitchen, arms still crossed, her face pale and her eyes flashing. Mark gestured to the remnants of her meal and said, “What’s all this? I thought we were getting dinner and then going to see a movie.”

 

That was all Bridget needed.

 

“Oh,  _ are _ we? I thought you wouldn’t be hungry after your little lunch date with Rebecca today. Don’t even try to hide it, Mark Darcy. I saw you with my own two eyes. All cozied up in that booth, chatting and...and... _ laughing _ with each other. Trust me, I get it--she’s gorgeous. And smart. And clearly funny, the way the two of you were chortling together. But the least you could’ve done was had the decency to break up with me. Yes, it would’ve hurt, but it wouldn’t have hurt this much.” With that, Bridget turned on her heel and whisked herself out of the kitchen. The next thing Mark heard--besides the blood pulsing in his own ears--was the slam of a door. 

Mark placed a hand over his eyes and dragged it down his face.  _ What in the bloody hell? _ He shrugged his overcoat off, knowing that he’d be a while. He took a quick pace around the kitchen, his mind racing.  _ I have to make this right. How can she be so daft as to think that I’m seeing Rebecca in a romantic sense? Clearly she’s delusional. We’re only coworkers. _ Mark stopped by the kitchen window and glanced out--the sun was quickly descending behind the rooftops of Bridget’s neighborhood, and all he could hear was the sound of honking horns and people talking in the street below.

_ Alright. You have to go talk to her. Keep your cool and make your point. She’s clearly upset and a touch irrational right now.  _ Mark took a deep breath and made his way into the hallway. Both the bathroom and the bedroom doors were closed and he wasn’t quite sure where to start first.  _ Bedroom seems most logical _ , he concluded, and made a beeline for the door. He flung the door open before he could second guess himself. “Bridget, it’s you that I love, not Rebecca--” he began, but quickly realized that he was making his case to an empty room. “Bridget?” he said, stepping past the threshold. The lamp was on, and her work clothes were strewn on the bed, but Bridget was nowhere to be found.  _ Hm, right. Bathroom then.  _ Mark closed the bedroom door and made his way back into the hallway.

This time Mark decided to be more reserved. He gave a gentle knock on the wooden door, leaning his head towards the bathroom. “Bridget?” he asked quietly. There was no answer from the other side. “Bridget, I know you’re in there. Please open the door.” He could distinctly hear a sniffle from the other side.  _ Oh, bloody hell _ , he thought as he realized that she was now crying. He could feel his neck getting hot and his palms sweating. He wasn’t any good at this kind of situation...her crying immediately made him uncomfortable, because all he wanted to do was fix it.  _ How in the hell am I going to fix this? _ Mark took a deep breath, and gently knocked again. “Please, Bridget. Open the door. I want to talk.” Mark heard the lock disengage from the bolt, but the door didn’t open. He hesitantly turned the knob and pushed it open. 

Bridget was sitting on the floor of her bathroom, her back against the wall and her knees drawn up to her chest. She had her head buried in her knees while her arms made a protective barrier around her face so that he couldn’t see her. Bridget wasn’t quite sobbing--he could tell from her body language--but every so often he would hear her wetly sniffle and take a choked breath. “Darling,” he murmured, crossing the tiled floor. “Please, darling, look at me.” Without lifting her head, Bridget responded with a muffled, “No.” Mark shoved his hands in his pants pockets, trying not to let his sigh be audible. “What can I do to make this better?” he asked, still standing in front of her. Bridget muttered into her knees, “Tell me the truth, for starters. You’re a bloody liar.”

Mark felt the hair on the back of his neck bristle.  _ She’s hurt. Stay calm. Don’t let this get ugly _ . “Bridget,” he started in a much sterner tone, “I think that’s an unfair word to be throwing into this. I haven’t lied about anything. Rebecca is my coworker, nothing more, and we were having a business lunch. She’s helping me with a very important case, and she suggested that we work on it over sandwiches, for a change of scenery. By no means do I find her attractive, romantically  _ or _ sexually. She’s simply someone who I work with.” 

 

Bridget raised her head. “Fine, you’re not a liar, you’re just an incredibly good cover-upper. Don’t think I haven’t noticed her around all the time...at the law dinner, at your social gatherings,  _ at your bloody house _ . You two make a handsome couple, Mark, there’s no denying that. Both tall, dark and handsome. What am  _ I _ compared to Rebecca? Short, fat and plain. I don’t know how you even bear to be seen out in public with me.” Silent tears were now deluging down her cheeks and she was making no effort to stop them. 

 

Mark felt his heart jump up into his throat.  _ Surely this can’t be what she thinks of herself,  _ he thought. “Bridget, don’t be ridiculous. You’re none of those things. You’re not fat in the least--and frankly, I love every inch of you. Plain is the  _ last _ thing that I’d call you…in fact, one couldn’t be more  _ opposite _ of plain. The only truth in your entire declaration is that you are, in fact, quite short, but I like that about you. You fit perfectly underneath my chin and when you look up at me, your eyes look so much bluer than they normally do. Truly, I don’t know what else to say to you to prove my point. I bloody love you, not Rebecca Gillies.”

Bridget looked Mark in the eye and wiped a sleeve against her cheek. “I’ve never felt so sick to my stomach than when I saw you with her in that booth,” she said quietly. She sniffled and wiped her opposite cheek. “I actually feel physically ill right now thinking about it.” Mark let out an exasperated sigh, this time very audibly, and let his head fall forward. His hands were still in his pockets as he stood in front of her, awkwardly trying to assess how to comfort his heartbroken girlfriend over something that logically didn’t make sense to him. Meekly, Mark said, “Bridget, I don’t know what to say or do to make it better. I really don’t.” Bridget mumbled something from her spot on the floor, and Mark looked at her. “What was that?” he asked. She looked up at him, her eyes rimmed in red, which made them look like cerulean pools. His heart leapt back up into his throat. She was so broken and all he wanted to do was fix her.

“I said, be less of a barrister and more of a boyfriend,” she muttered, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he shot back, surprised at the sudden change of gears in the conversation. Bridget gestured with her head towards his stance. “Look at you, still standing there with your hands in your pockets, making all of your points and counterpoints with logical precision. It feels like we’re in court and I’m the defendant. This whole day has been bloody awful and all I want is my boyfriend back.” Her eyes dropped to the floor as another tear slid down her cheek. 

Mark unclenched the fists he had unknowingly made in his pockets and took his hands out. He ran them over his face, trying to rub the guilt and sadness away that was creeping into the corners of his vision. “My dearest darling,” he said quietly, moving towards Bridget’s crumpled figure on the floor. He eased himself down into a sitting position next to her and gently took her face in his hand. It was wet from the tears that were still falling from her eyes, and he ran his thumb over the apple of her cheek to catch them. She looked him in the eye, then laid her head on his chest. Mark put his arm around her and held her like that for a few seconds, allowing her to catch her breath.

Bridget sniffled and said, “So you really aren’t attracted to her?” Mark pushed himself back to get a better look at Bridget’s face and smiled. “My dear, all I need in this world is someone like you...more specifically,  _ just _ you. I love you so very much, and I hope you love me just the same.” Bridget smiled. “I thought I had lost you,” she whispered, darting her eyes down towards the floor. “Not if I can help it,” he whispered back, planting a kiss against her hair. She let out a sob, and Mark felt himself stiffen. “What now, love?” he said, trying to see her face. “I’m just so bloody happy that I’m such an idiot,” she responded with a wet smile. Mark laughed and kissed her deeply. When they broke apart, he looked at her and said, “I’ll make you the happiest you’ve ever been, if you’ll let me.” Bridget nodded, her eyes welled with tears, and she kissed him again. “I’d like that very much,” she said, and he grinned.

 

Bridget laid back onto his chest and Mark squeezed her close. “My darling Bridget,” he murmured. “My dearest, darling Bridget.”


End file.
